One Summer I dated 5 different men (not at the same time) and ended up feeling lonelier than ever by the end of Summer.

“So, how do you feel about me” I asked one of the guys after having been going out with him for about a month. “Umm” the guy said looking slightly horrified and palms starting to sweat “ I really like hanging out with you”. Sigh, I thought, where is the passion? Do you think you could fall in love with me or not? I need to know, now please.

And so naturally I decided that a guy with so little gusto for me was not worth it and and told him I thought it was better that we just stop this thing. This scenario pretty much repeated itself in some shape or form with every guy I dated that Summer.

One sunny evening towards the end of Summer I was walking though a park and sat myself down beneath a tree to pity myself for a while and write in my diary. I felt rejected and lonely, and didn't understand why nobody wanted to be with me. The American guy I just had spent the last two weeks with had left. When he hadn't asked me to come visit him by the end of our time together I knew what it meant- it was yet another romantic fairy tale dream crushed by stupid boring realism.

If these guys didn't know how they felt towards me after a few weeks of dating how could that turn into something true and meaningful? I mean, it either is or it isn't, right?

But, looking back now it is so obvious to me that a large part of this was completely my own fault!

Because, falling in love also requires patience and commitment, and time. Contrary to the movies it often doesn't happen at first sight and certainly doesn't happen if you pressure someone into loving you.

I had set up expectations as high as the Eiffel tower even before I knew what I felt, and I now realize that none of them probably ever stood a chance (okay, maybe if one of them would have been a pastry maker and bribed me with sweets I could've looked past the lack of passion).